Longarm 244: Longarm and the Devil's Sister (7 page)

Longarm shook his head and pointed out, “The two of us just saw her alive and well out front. Would you expect a cold-blooded killer who's downed many an innocent by-stander to hesitate sixty seconds if anybody at all was that mean to him?”

The ranger blurted, “Hell, she's his own sister!” before he thought through to, “You're right. He could have arranged any number of tragic accidents and wound up the sole heir in the catbird seat if money and bossing honest riders around was enough to satisfy his twisted soul.”

Longarm nodded soberly and said, “You missed the drawn-out trial he just put us through in Denver. He was guilty beyond the shadow of a flea in the dark. But he had this team of high-priced Texas lawyers raising objections to everything including the weather outside on the day his other pals shot up the courtroom and lit out with him. I can't see him having to rob because he's from a poor family. He robs because he just plain enjoys the scenery along the owlhoot trail!”

“When he ain't holed up on his home ground,” the ranger grumbled.

Longarm shrugged and said, “I never said any of 'em were college professors or even cowboys with common sense and natural habits. Who was Miss Connie showing respect to by following his hearse on foot? Some other local cattle baron?”

The ranger smiled thinly and replied, “Not hardly. Just a greaser named Jesus. Jesus Robles. One of Miss Connie's
vaqueros.
He rode his pony into bob wire in the dark and busted his neck. They had to shoot the pony and some say old 'Soos was riding fast and drunk.”

Longarm lit the cheroot he'd stuck between his teeth before he shook out the waterproof waxed Mexican match to observe, “There you go. A lady who'd treat a drunken cowboy to such a handsome funeral after he'd killed one of her mounts would hardly hold out on her own flesh and blood.”

Travis asked, “What if he asked for more than she and her momma could afford? Speaking from sad family experience I can tell you a heap of big outfits live on credit and credit alone between market drives, with the beef prices set by fine-haired sons of bitches from back East!”

Longarm mentally studied the notes he'd taken in Denver and left there for safe keeping before he said, “It works either way. Old Devil Dave's never pulled off a job that would have netted him more than a few hundred dollars after he'd split the swag with his sidekicks, and your point about cattlemen living on credit most of the time was well taken. I hear Uncle John Chisum lost a swamping amount from his bank account on that Lincoln County War. But the last time I had coffee and cake at his South Spring Ranch the coffee was Arbuckle Brand and the cake wasn't stale. Uncle John has this pretty little gal, Miss Sally, keeping house for him these days. He introduces her as his niece. She may well be his niece. My point is that Uncle John keeps her gussied up pretty and I suspect she charges all the coffee and cake she wants to on the credit anyone with a lot of land and beef on the hoof can command. I know Miss Connie Deveruex can't control as much land and beef on the hoof as Uncle John Chisum or Colonel Richard King, down where the Rio Grande flows into the Gulf. But her kid brother should have been able to charge or borrow enough to get stewed, screwed, and tattooed enough to kill him.”

The ranger finished his tumbler and a half of suds and put his hand over the empty as he growled, “I wish it had, and I got to get on down the owlhoot trail. Ah, Crawford, I'll tell my captain about this conversation. He'll likely go along with you riding solo to your doom. Lord knows we've had no luck and you have a rep for being lucky. But have you forgot what happened to them two Pinkerton men who rode into Clay County alone after Frank and Jesse that time?”

Longarm blew a thoughtful smoke ring and said, “Nope. I've often wondered how they gave themselves away as undercover riders. The one who gunned the two of 'em has never seen fit to say.”

The ranger rose and held out a hand to part friendly. Longarm was too smart to glance around the crowded saloon as he quietly murmured he'd rather not shake.

Travis proved he could think on his own feet by raising his voice as he turned away, saying, “Up your ass then you tight-lipped son of a clam!”

Longarm made a rude gesture at the ranger's back as Travis strode out in a huff.

Longarm poured himself some more suds but just sat there smoking until, sure enough, a rider who could have been Tex or Mex as he stood tall and tan in a gray
charro
outfit trimmed in black braid came over and sat down uninvited to place a Colt '73 Frontier on the table in front of him and say, “I'd be Chongo Masters and I ride for the D Bar L. I feel somehow certain you're ready to answer some questions about now.”

Longarm drew his .44-40 with a left-handed twist-draw. He lifted the Winchester from his lap to slam them both on the table in front of himself as he calmly replied, “I answer to Duncan Crawford these days. I don't ride for nobody and it depends on how polite your questions might be.”

It got mighty quiet in there for a serious breathless spell. Then Chongo Masters smiled thinly and said, “I don't think you savvy the situation here, Mister Crawford. I forgot to say most of these other boys ride for the D Bar L, too. They rode into town behind me, see?”

“You must be tired after dragging so many ponies after you,” said Longarm, without taking his eyes off that one man and that one gun at the table with him as he added in a politer tone, “I never told you I wouldn't talk to you. I'm still waiting to hear your question, not a schoolyard-bully brag.”

“Ay, quedescarado!”
marveled a Mex in the crowd.

An English-speaking rider growled, “Clean the sassy stranger's plow for him, Chongo.”

Neither of them were staring into the sassy stranger's gun-muzzle gray eyes. Chongo managed to keep his own voice from cracking as he pasted a sickly smile across his swarthy face and confided, “You see how it is when there's no opera house in town and the ones making the most helpful suggestions ain't in the line of fire. Afore you cloud up and rain all over me, I only wanted to know what you and that ranger were talking about, just now.”

Longarm asked, “How come? Might you be wanted by the Texas Rangers, Masters?”

The somewhat deflated local bully said, “Not hardly. I just told you I had a steady job, in charge of all the riding stock down on the Deveruex-Lopez spread. Me and the boys were only wondering whether that ranger was asking about anybody from around here that we might know.”

Longarm had been thinking a lot harder than a poker player holding a straight flush and wondering who might be holding a royal. So his poker face gave nothing away as he shrugged and replied, “Like I told that nosy ranger, I got nothing to hide about anybody in these parts because I just drifted in from other parts. I'd have never made her as far as the Pecos if everywhere I stopped along the way they had coffee and cake for me but no job. I told that fool ranger I just rode in for the first time less than a full hour ago. So how in thunder was I supposed to tell him about some durned old Greek?”

Chongo blinked in confusion and studied some before he said, “Hold on. Are you sure it was Greek Steve he was asking you about, not a Tex-Mex by the name of Dave?”

Longarm started to shake his head, brightened and replied, “Oh, sure, him too. Another cuss I never heard of, called Dave something or other. I told him I didn't know anybody called Greek Steve or Greek anything. Now I got a question. What's this shit about and how come they're pestering me about it?”

Chongo twisted in his seat to call out, “Hey, Pantages? Get over here and tell us what the rangers want you for!”

A burly rider with jet-black hair and a blue jaw but whiter skin than most of the bunch came over with a beer scuttle in hand, grabbing a chair from another table along the way.

As he swung it around to sit in like a pony, backwards, Chongo told him, “This is Duncan Crawford, Steve. He says that ranger he was just jawing with in here was asking questions about you.”

Greek Steve stared hard at Longarm and flatly stated, “That is a fucking lie. I say this to your face, you lying bastard. So what are you going to do about it, eh?”

Chongo had been staring into Longarm's eyes longer. So he was the the one who put a hand on the newcomer's sleeve to warn, “You're out of line, Greek Steve. It was that ranger who mentioned your name in vain, not Crawford, here.”

Greek Steve said, “Bullshit! I ain't wanted by the fucking rangers for toad squat! I've been an upright and honest Pecos Valley boy since nine months after my momma came from Salmos as a bride to join my dear old dad in Texas! Anybody who says the Texas Rangers are after me is a lying bastard, like I said!”

Longarm flicked some ash from his cheroot and soberly observed it was just as well he hadn't lied, adding, “I'd have to kill you if it was me you were calling a bastard. Since I never said anybody was after you, it ain't too late to reason calm about what I might or might not have said about you to that ranger.”

Chongo soothed, “There you go. Hear the man out, Greek Steve.”

The belligerent Hellene didn't answer one way or the other. Longarm decided silence was at least gold-washed and said, “You're right that I had no call to say any lawman was after you, Mister Pantages. We can all agree that we never laid eyes on one another until mighty recent. I just now got here.”

“From New Mexico, crowded out by the trouble they've been having up Lincoln County way,” Chongo chimed in, adding, “he couldn't have been the one to bring your name up. He couldn't have known you were alive. Ain't that right, Crawford?”

Longarm nodded curtly and said, ‘That ranger never mentioned Mister Pantages by name. He only said he'd heard they had a Greek boy riding with the D Bar L and asked what I might know about him. I told him I had never been closer to any such outfit than I am right now and had no idea how many Greeks, Dutchmen, or Eskimos they might have riding for them. He intimated I was a liar, too. But he said it more polite and I never throw down on a lawman if I can possibly avoid it.”

The two local riders exchanged puzzled glances. Greek Steve seemed more puzzled and less outraged as he demanded, “What did that fucking ranger accuse me of? I know he was accusing me because I'm the only Greek for miles. Texas Greek, that is. My folk talked Greek at home when I was a boy. I remember they called it Elliniki, but that's one of the few Greek words I still remember. My momma used to take me to the Greek Orthodox services whenever we got over to San Antone. But there ain't no Greek churches nor other Greek riders along the lower Pecos. So he must have meant me and what do you reckon that means?”

They both looked at Longarm. It wouldn't have been wise to mention that Greek Orthodox church up in Denver, where everybody standing on the steps crossed themselves different from Roman Catholics when they held their Easter Procession on a different day and tied up traffic all around. So he simply said, “You're asking the wrong man. I told that ranger he was asking the wrong man, too. He said he knew I was here to hire on at that D Bar L just down the valley. When I told him I'd done no such thing, that was when he called me a liar. He said he knew for a fact some lady was taking on extra help, and he called me a liar some more when I said that if I wanted to hire on as household help I'd have asked Miss Sally Chisum for a job without having to leave New Mexico. She's the lady as keeps house at the Long-Rail and Jingle-Bob home spread at South Spring and...”

“Nevermind that range pirate and his famous play-pretty!” Chongo cut in, turning to Greek Steve to demand, “Are you sure you ain't got anything to tell Miss Connie about you-know-who? There ain't no way a stranger to these parts could make what this one's saying up out of thin air, even if he was a lawman, himself.”

Longarm growled, “Aw, if you're going to keep insulting me, I'll thank you both to leave my damn table and let me drink in peace. I only fetched one extra glass from the bar in hopes they'd have some gals in this surly saloon. Since anyone can see it's just a piss-poor excuse for a dog-fighting pit, I'll just drink alone 'til it cools off enough to ride on.”

Chongo said, “I wish you'd both cool off! That trouble-making tin star, combined with this noonday heat, has us all at loggerheads when we may be on the same side. It had to be that ranger asking all those questions about you and that trail-drive Miss Connie's been planning, Greek Steve. They must have you down as a schoolmate of you-know-who and they wouldn't know Miss Connie had us rounding up for that drive well before that... family emergency. I'd say the rangers have put one and one together to come up with seven or eleven!”

Greek Steve was staring at Longarm as he told Chongo, “I'd say you sure talk a lot in front of total-ass strangers, too. We don't know this saddle tramp from the Czar Of All The Russians and folk here in the valley don't talk about Miss Connie's personal problems amongst each other!”

Chongo started to argue, nodded, and told Longarm, “When he's right he's right. Greek Steve has a short fuse because he takes a little rawhiding about Greek Loving.”

Greek Steve scowled and snapped, “Where I come from they say it's the Spanish who prefer ass fucking and the Irish who fuck their dear old mothers when they can't get the pigs to put out!”

Chongo sighed and said, “One of these days you're going to push me a tad too far, Greek Steve. But let's get cooled down some before we all blow up like cartridges in a frying pan.”

He got back to his feet, adding, “I don't know about you sweating
buscaderos,
but I'm off to Rosalinda's for a cold shower and a naked flop on cool sheets until that fucking sun outside let's up for the day!”